Homecoming (4)
As rural as it was, it was still a place where people lived, so of course there were restaurants. Well… calling them restaurants was a generous stretch.
It was the typical sort of place, selling bread, soup, and a bit of meat. The portions were mediocre, and the taste… well, let's just say Cecil left food on her plate.
Then again, places like this prioritized filling a stomach over pleasing the palate. It was what it was.
How did my father, with his refined palate, manage to live in a place like this? Even if he cooked for himself, he'd have to source the ingredients from right here.
Anyway, it was clear we'd be better off eating dinner at home. Still, since we had a guest, I figured we could expect something delicious. For some reason, my father seemed hell-bent on spreading Korean cuisine.
Lost in thought, we reached the end of the shopping district. The last shop.
"Welcome!"
The buttery smell of bread wafted out from the storefront. The final shop was a bakery.
But.
"Mmm…"
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Let's go."
It seemed the bakery didn't quite meet Cecil's standards, spoiled as she was by the fancy dessert cafes in the capital. And I couldn't blame her. Comparing the bread from a place like this to the pastries made by top-tier bakers using the finest ingredients would be a grave insult to the latter. It probably wasn't inedible, but there was no reason to buy it.
In the end, I just grabbed a couple of buns, saying they were for the kids.
"You sure you don't want to eat?"
"Yeah. My palate's gotten too used to the capital. This is why people say not to feed kids too well."
Or, I could just bake some myself. I wasn't great at it, but I'd made bread a few times. Unlike a shop that had to worry about profit, I could make it without thinking about the cost.
"How about that?"
"Hmm, is there a place that sells ingredients?"
"They sell milk and eggs right after getting them, so they're probably fresher than what you'd find in the capital. And the main house grows its own wheat, so there's probably flour left over."
We'd need other things too—butter, sugar, and so on. But this was my father we were talking about. A man who lived to eat and would die for a good meal. No doubt our fridge was stocked with all sorts of ingredients.
"Maybe that's the better idea. Hey, while you're at it, teach me too."
"Baking?"
"Yeah. It looked fun."
"It's not that fun, but… sure, why not."
I imagined Cecil baking bread. Flour on her cheeks, crouching in front of the oven, staring endlessly at the rising dough…
"Pfft."
"?"
"Nothing."
I'd have to seriously consider teaching her.
As we were chatting like that…
"……You know?"
"Of course."
I felt a presence approaching from behind. The footsteps were light, the vibrations faint. A small build. Creeping up slowly—it was hard to believe it was with good intentions. They couldn't even hide their presence well. An ordinary person. And we knew their type all too well.
A pickpocket. A child, most likely. One of those risking their lives to avoid starving today.
"What do you wanna do?"
"What do you want to do?"
"I'll follow your lead. You bought the bread."
"Hmm… I want to give it to them."
"Alright, then."
With that short exchange, the success of the kid's hunt was decided. It went without saying that a pickpocket wouldn't stand a chance against a superhuman of their caliber.
We walked a few more steps. The kid must have judged it as the right moment, because he shot out like an arrow and reached out his hand.
"Ah."
With a soft thump, the paper bag vanished from Cecil's hand.
"Got it! Run!"
"Billy! Over here!"
At the same time, the kid disappeared into the mouth of an alley, and a girl's voice echoed from inside. Was she his partner? If so, that kid was probably Billy.
"That kid's pretty fast, huh?"
"I guess. Maybe he's got talent?"
He wasn't as fast as I was back then, but he was definitely quick for his age. If nothing went wrong, he'd probably grow up to be a nasty thug. Or he'd end up stabbed like me.
"That sounds pretty bleak when you put it that way."
"Can't help it if it's true."
At my words, a complicated expression crossed Cecil's face. Was she feeling pity for the kid? Or was she projecting herself onto the girl who helped him?
She slipped her hand into her pocket, jingling some coins.
"…Let's buy more bread."
"Sure. Let's."
I didn't say anything else. We already knew what each other was thinking.
"I'll pay with my own money."
"That's the money your mom gave you for food, isn't it?"
"She gave it to me as a meal allowance, so I shouldn't spend it on whatever I want."
"It's fine. Do you think she'd take back what's left? It's basically pocket money."
"Still…"
"Or are you saying my mom would think it's a waste to spend money on the orphan kids in the neighborhood?"
"No, no, no! Why would it turn into that? Huh?"
"Heh heh. If not, then just buy it with the money she gave you. I'll tell her."
"Uwaa, that's so childish…"
And so, we found ourselves back at the bakery.
"Ahem. I'll take everything from here to here, please."
"Actually, could you bring them out for us?"
"Ah, yes, ma'am…"
The owner ended up packing them all for us. I figured it was the least he could do, considering we were basically buying out his entire day's stock. But that aside, the amount was overwhelming. I'd wanted this, but seeing it all in person, it was a lot…
"Jeden."
"Yeah."
"Can you see the front?"
"No."
"…I gotta follow you closely, then."
"You are."
I was walking with my eyes fixed on the back of Cecil's heels, my view completely blocked by the towering stack of paper bags in my arms. She was carrying a similar load next to me, but at least she was holding it by the handles, not hugging it like a tower. And she was the one leading the way.
We walked a bit further and reached the alley where the kid had appeared.
"It's this way."
From here on out, it was the back alleys. The slums.
A maze of buildings of unknown purpose, churning out countless narrow paths. The homes of those who clung to life in the cracks. There were no designated roads, and no one knew what you'd find down any given path.
But.
"You remember the way?"
"Of course. I lived here for years. Time doesn't erase it."
Naturally, the residents knew every path by heart. It was their home, after all.
The structure of the slums rarely changed. Even if a building got trashed, it was always an internal affair; the building itself never collapsed. If it did, it would be cutting off your own nose to spite your face. That was an unwritten rule of the slums. In a place with no engineers, no materials, and no capital to rebuild, a broken building was either dismantled or left as a ruin. It wasn't recycled, and it wasn't easy to make it disappear. Even if it was a rival clan's hideout, smashing them one by one would eventually destroy the alleyways formed by the buildings, and with them, the labyrinthine paths and concealment that were the slums' greatest defense.
This was already a pit for those who couldn't fit into society. If even this were lost… well, I'd heard rumors of slums that dissolved, their people flooding into the towns until the militia put them down. But of course, the first problem was whether anyone even had the ability to tear down a building.
Anyway. For those reasons, the structure of the slums wasn't much different from when we'd left. The thing the kids back then knew better than their own faces was the map of the slums. The map we'd etched into our brains to survive was still functional.
"If we go left here, we'll get to the place we used to stay. Wanna go?"
"Let's deal with this bread first."
"Then let's go to where the clan used to be."
The clan we'd belonged to wasn't a small one. Of course, in the slums, a clan could crumble in a day if you made the wrong enemies, but the territory itself was decent. Even if it had fallen, another clan would have taken it over.
So what was the point of going there?
None at all. We weren't kind-hearted alumni who'd grown up big and strong and come back to donate to our old school. We felt no gratitude or sense of belonging to our old clan. Hell, we never had those feelings in the first place. We'd never been asked for them, either. We just needed a fence to survive one more day.
So, this wasn't reciprocation. It wasn't gratitude. It was just a little sympathy. Seeing that kid reminded me of our own childhood. It reminded me of the days when we had to choose between starving to death or getting beaten to death for a single piece of bread. This was just a small act of compassion, a little pity. Maybe it was just an expression of moral vanity. It wasn't some grand gesture, nor was it a grand emotion.
"…Ah, it's here. The clan's still around, huh? That's the same symbol as back then."
"The alarm's probably already spread, right?"
"About that time. Ah, see over there? A bunch of kids are hiding. Cute."
"Whoa. You sounded like a total villain just now."
"What?"
"If I had to label it, a hedonistic murderer."
To them, we were a kind of intruder. Even the slums had their own ways, their own codes, their own laws. Not trespassing on a clan's territory was one of those rules. Besides, we were only seventeen. If we'd grown up normally in a clan, we'd be old enough to become full members of a higher organization. It was a perfectly reasonable assumption that we belonged to some slum syndicate.
Which was why Cecil spoke first.
"Who wants bread!"
It was a bit more cheerful than I expected, but whatever. I just dumped the bags I was holding onto the ground. The dozen or so bundles I'd been cradling fell to the floor in a heap. The bread wasn't fresh out of the oven, but with that much of it, it wasn't hard to figure out what it was.
And then, one by one, the kids hidden in the alley started to come out.
After all, no matter how much of a clan or an organization it was, they were still just kids. In a normal home, they'd be old enough to learn farm work and basic literacy, not how to scheme for their next meal. They were at an age to run around with friends and sometimes complain about the side dishes. The wariness they'd naturally developed crumbled pretty quickly in the face of a mountain of bread.
But even so, they didn't rush forward. Wasn't it too suspicious, the bread aside? The bread could be poisoned. We could be up to something. The kids just watched us warily, sneaking glances.
I met Cecil's gaze over the kids' heads, asking what to do next.
She picked up a bun.
"Gulp."
She took a big bite. Nom nom. Her small mouth worked hard, her cheeks puffing out, until she swallowed it down with a gulp.
"Not bad. Not good either."
A short review. But it was enough to move the kids.
"Line up. First come, first served."
"…That's mine!"
"Move!"
"Screw first come, first served, let's just take it!"
Unable to hold back their hunger and the taunts, the kids surged forward like a pack of dogs. A pack of wild dogs.
Of course.
"Ow!"
"Ghk!"
"Waaah!"
I gave each one of them a good whack on the head.
"Listen to your big sister. She said to line up if you want some, didn't she?"
"Oof."
Only after getting a bump on their heads did they start to line up. A few of them started fighting anyway.
"I was here first!"
"Liar! You cut in front of me!"
For those kids, I stepped in myself.
"Sigh."
"Mister, he's the one who lied!"
"No, I wasn't! I was already here!"
"You think I didn't see? Go to the back of the line. There's plenty of bread. Even with this line, everyone's getting at least two."
Cecil took on the role of handing out the bread to the kids who were lined up.
"Here you go."
"W-wow… a whole loaf. I've never seen a whole loaf before."
"Then what are you supposed to say?"
"Ah! Thank you, big sis!"
"Hehe, enjoy it."
She handed them a loaf in each hand, then tousled their greasy, matted hair. I noticed she used her right hand for the bread and her left hand for the head pats.
A few of the kids asked her questions.
"But, big sis."
"Yeah?"
"Why are you doing this for us?"
And every time, Cecil answered the same way.
"It reminds me of when I was little. Well, I'm still little, I guess!"
"When you were little…?"
"Yeah. I'm from here too. I don't live here anymore, but I used to."
"Really?! But you're so pretty!"
"Thanks. You're pretty too, you know."
"Eheh. You think so?"
I didn't know for sure, but did being pretty make you look like you weren't from the slums to these kids? …Well, I guess she didn't really fit the mold. It would be more believable to say she was a precious jewel of some noble family.
The long line slowly dwindled, and finally, the last kid was there.
"You're the last one, right?"
"Yes, big sis!"
"Tough kid, huh? Alright, I'm in a good mood! I'll give you three!"
"Really? Thank you!"
The bread that had seemed so plentiful was almost gone, but we'd managed to give some to the last kid. Cecil watched the last kid run off with a small smile.
"Jeden."
"Yeah."
"……This feels weird."
"…Me too."
I turned my head. Behind the walls, sitting on the ground, hiding in the shadows. They were all gathered in their own comfortable spots, sharing the bread. I picked up one of the two remaining buns and bit into it.
It was dry, hard, and coarse. It wasn't inedible, but it wasn't something I could call delicious with a straight face. But, somehow… it was a satisfying taste. A fulfilling taste.
"Jeden."
"Yeah."
"Let's do this sometimes."
"Not a bad idea."
Just then, a kid latched onto Cecil, and she started playing with them. Kids were kids, I guess. She was already friends with them. I, on the other hand, probably intimidated them with my scary face, or maybe it was the good cop, bad cop strategy, but they seemed reluctant to even come near me.
Watching her, a word slipped out of my mouth without passing through my brain.
"She'd make a good mom."
……What the hell was I saying? I laughed wryly to myself.
A few dozen minutes later.
"Big sis, we're going now! Bye!"
"Okay!"
"See you later!"
"Thank you!"
Unlike when we arrived, we were able to leave the slums with a fair bit of cheering. The day was slowly getting dark. By the time we got home, dinner would just about be ready. I started walking, thinking about that.
And then.
"Oh, yeah. Jeden."
"You're calling my name a lot today."
"Hehe, am I? Anyway."
"What?"
Cecil hesitated for a moment.
"I think… you'd make a good dad."
……
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Hehe, you're blushing."
"Shut up."
"Whyyyyy~? It's not like I insulted you or anything!"
"You're not getting any dinner tonight."
"What! No, that's not fair!"
It was a slightly noisy walk home. The slums, which had always been so quiet, were now bustling with life. That fact alone made me feel quite pleased.